


Toxic

by saratogaroad



Series: Crystalline Shards [5]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Background Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-21 16:27:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12461523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saratogaroad/pseuds/saratogaroad
Summary: Already hurting, Noctis takes Gladio's words to heart and makes a reckless decision, learning something of the nature of grief along the way.Gladio learns that his words can be just as deadly, if not more so, than the sword he carries."I was doing my job," Noctis says coolly. Prompto can feel the tension in his back, the fine tremors wracking his thin form, "isn't that what you wanted?"Gladio pales, like someone pulled all the color clean out of him, leaving nothing but dark leather on white skin.





	1. Cartanica

**Author's Note:**

> [Prompt](http://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4113.html?thread=6476049#cmt6476049); background (one-sided? :3) Promptis included because it wrote itself in. Prom, you're hopeless.

"Have either of you seen or heard from Noct recently?" Ignis asks, breaking the relative silence of the Cartanica platform. Sitting beside him on a bench, the setting sun turning everything molten gold, Prompto looks up from his phone. The sounds of Kings Knight jingle from the speaker.

"Not since we got here. He said he was going back for something in the sleeping car."

"That was two hours ago," Ignis sighs in exasperation, "and neither of you has gone to check on him?"

"His Royal Highness probably fell asleep," Gladio growls as he pushes himself to stand properly instead of leaning against a light pole. "Royal pain in my ass, more like."

Ignis' shoulders go tense. Gladio is gone before he can do more than open his mouth and then he sighs, hands tightening around the head of his cane. Prompto looks back to his phone, but Kings Knight blurs as his eyes water. He swipes at them, feeling like the worlds worst best friend. Gladio and Noct have been fighting since the train left Altissia, and the atmosphere is so thick he can't stand it anymore. He's tried to step up, tried to step in, but neither has listened. He sniffles.

"Iggy?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think..." he swallows around the lump in his throat, "do you think the four of us will still be friends when all of this is over?"

Ignis is silent for far too long, and when he does speak, his voice is too soft, too tired.

"I truly don't know, Prompto. I truly don't know."

A couple of tears roll down Promptos cheeks. He swipes angrily at them, leaving streaks of heat across his face. This whole trip has been a shitshow. First Insomnia, then Jared, then Lady Lunafreya, and now the bond between the four of them? What else do they have to lose before this is over?

"Noct's not on the train."

Six, no!

Prompto whirls around to sit on his knees, to see Gladio storming back from the train with storm clouds in his eyes and fists clenched tight. Beside him, Ignis has gone tense.

"Gladio?"

"I checked our bunk, the dining car, the Regalia--he's not on the train. Nobody's seen a scrawny kid on black since we got here, either."

The rest of his words turn to static in Prompto's ears as he looks out over the platform. There are no obvious Imperials here, no MTs just waiting to shock-and-snatch at their unwary prince, and the platform is full. Many of their fellow passengers have disembarked here to stretch out their legs or get some fresh air, but even among all those heads he can't see Noctis' familiar spikes anywhere. He stands, spins in a circle to look at the entire platform, only to stop and stare as his eyes turn to the lift down to the mine. The gates are closed, waiting for someone to call it up. In the rapidly darkening light, it looks almost haunted.

"You don't think he..." he can hear the others look at him, "went down to the Mine by himself, do you?"

"If he did," Gladio snarls, "I'll kick his ass."

He moves to storm past the bench, but Ignis snaps out an arm and catches him at the middle. It doesn't even knock the wind out of him.

"You'll do no such thing. We will discuss this rationally and calmly, make a plan of action, and then decide what to do."

"Iggy," Prompto wavers, "What if he is down there, though?"

"Then we will follow at first light, and no sooner." He sighs heavily when Prompto whines in the back of his throat, "The mines are twisted into a local swamp, Prompto. I am as concerned as you are, but we can't help Noct if we pursue him straight into danger."

"Not to mention he's put you into enough danger already," Gladio says. Then he chokes and steps back as, blind or not, Ignis levels him with a look cold enough to freeze fire. It is a softer look that he turns back to Prompto a moment later.

"Try to call him," he says, "though there may not be any signal down below."

Prompto exits so fast out of Kings Knight that he doesn't bother to save his progress. He hits speed-dial one, calls Noctis, but it immediately goes to voicemail. He tries again, face falling and stomach cramping, only to get the same result. The third time is not the charm and he looks up at them, at Gladio ready to kill someone and Ignis ready to snap.

"He--" Prompto can't speak around the lump in his throat. He clears it, tries again, manages to whisper, "He's not answering. I'm just getting voicemail."

Gladio snarls, "He turned it off."

"Or it is broken," Ignis counters, but his voice is no longer quite so calm. "Prompto, send him a text. See if he answers that."

"Y-yeah."

He sends something off quickly, something like 'where are you? Call me!' But with a lot of spelling errors because his fingers won't stop shaking. It sends with a ping, interrupting their last conversation about if Noctis wanted anything from some caravanside diner to go with his painkillers--Six, that was before Altissia--but there is no read receipt.

There is none, even as the minutes begin to drag. Prompto's knee bounces up and down in a stacatto rhythmn, bouncing his elbow and thus his phone held so tight in both hands the case creaks. Gladio begins to pace in front of the bench, military straight marching five steps one way, turn, five steps the other way. Ignis sits still as a statue, hands on the head of his cane and back on the bench, posture rigid. Prompto worries the inside of his lip until it burns, stomach churning.

Where is he?

Five minutes. No reply. No receipt.

Did the Empire come in plainsclothes? Do they have him? Is he waiting for a rescue they don't think he needs?

Ten minutes. Prompto looks up. Gladio is still pacing. Ignis hasn't twitched. He looks back at his phone, the text boxes blurring as his eyes keep watering.

Thirty minutes.

An hour. Gladio has stopped pacing. He stands there, unmoving as a lamp post. Prompto's phone chimes low battery at him, the screen dimming automatically to conserve itself. He shuts off all his background apps to buy every second rather than leave to get his chargepack. Ignis is so still someone might mistake him for a statue.

An hour and a half. Prompto's going to be sick. Bile, acrid and sharp, burns at the back of his throat. He starts praying to the Six, to Shiva, to Bahamut, to any one who'll listen. He begs the spirits of King Regis and Lady Lunafreya to bring Noctis back to them, to not take him just yet because Prompto still needs him, isn't ready to lose him yet and probably never will be.

Two hours. His phone shuts off with a buzz and sad little noise. He chokes on a sob and bends over the dead little device like that'll give it life again. Two strides away Gladio shifts stiffly.

"I'm going after him. If I have to drag his scrawny ass back here--"

"Enough, Gladio." Ignis says. His voice rasps from disuse. About to cry, Prompto looks at them. "This fighting has to stop."

"Who's fighting?" Gladio snorts, crossing his arms over his chest. There's something in his eyes, something Prompto isn't sure how to name. He isn't sure he wants to as Gladio continues, "He's done something _else_ stupid and now we have to go save his scrawny ass. Like always."

"Not like always!" Prompto's chest heats up; Noctis isn't defenseless. Sure the Nifs had targetted him above the others but--he draws back as Gladio turns an unimpressed look on him, hands clenching tight around his phone.

"Yeah, like always," He repeats. He snorts hard and harsh. "We're trying to keep him safe and all he does is charge ahead--"

"Do you really think Noctis would have gone off on his own if he felt safe with you still?" Ignis looks up at Gladio, who looks suddenly as if someone's stuffed a monochrome filter over him, pale skin and dark leather. Prompto clutches his dead phone to his chest and looks between them as Ignis continues, "He is many things, Gladiolus, but stupid is not one of them. He knows very well where and when he is not wanted." 

"And maybe that's for good reason!" Gladio explodes. Prompto jumps, plasters himself to the back of the bench. Ignis startles against his arm as Gladio continues, "Your uncle is dead! Prompto's parents are dead! My dad--" Gladio clenches his fists tight. Prompto's heart flips in his chest.

"That's not Noct's fault--" Prompto says, only to flinch back and hunch his shoulders as Gladio turns that look on him; it's not hared, Prompto doesn't think, but anger. Hurt. They're all hurting. Gladio's just broken first. Prompto trembles as he shakes his head, "It's not...Gladio it's not..."

"He hasn't done a damn thing to fix it, either--"

"That's quite enough!" Ignis turns his gaze to Gladio, narrowing his sightless eyes. "Arguing about this isn't going to solve or help anyone."

"But he--"

"Noctis has lost his father, his kingdom, and now a dear friend in the span of less than a month." He stands stiffly, then begins to walk forward to where Gladio stands. "He needs time, and when he is ready he will move forward."

"We can't wait for him to be ready!" Gladio counters, "We waited around for him and look what happened! Lady Lunafreya's dead, you're blind, and he still--"

"He is still our King!" Ignis shouts, taking a step towards Gladio. Prompto makes a noise behind them, unused to Ignis yelling when they're out of battle, but Ignis presses forward. "And before that he has been our friend." He reaches out, grabs a handful of leather, and pulls himself up until he probably can feel Gladio's breath across his face, standing as close as he dares. "We have all lost, Gladio. Your mourning for your father is no less important than Noctis mourning for his, or for Lady Lunafreya. This fighting must end."

Gladio is silent. Prompto is silent. Heart pounding he counts the seconds, fifteen, twenty, thirty...then Ignis sighs and lets go.

"I do not blame Noctis for my injury," he says quietly, "and I will survive losing my sight. But losing any of you..." He sighs, and Prompto gathers enough courage to walk over and rest a hand on Ignis' shoulder. "Do not ask this of me, Gladio. Please."

"Ig, I..."

"What's everyone yelling about?"

Ignis goes stiff beneath Prompto's hands. Gladio looks up and stares with wide eyes. Prompto turns around, tears already blurring his vision.

"Noct!"

Noctis looks terrible. His jacket is missing, his shirt and pants are torn and covered in equal measure mud and monster guts, his hair is mussed beyond what even sleep could do, and his face is covered in a mix of sweat, mud, and blood from a cut just above his eyes. Even at this distance, Prompto can tell he doesn't smell very good.

He doesn't care. Staring at Noctis in the golden light of a lamp, he's never seen a sight as beautiful as this. 

"Noct!" He shouts again, throwing himself at his best friend with arms outstretched. Noctis jumps but catches Prompto anyway--he really does stink--and they both laugh as the momentum spins them around. Noctis' back bends and Prompto leans back, takes his friend's weight, and revels in the fact that he is breathing, even if he's stinky and fever warm beneath his fingers. "You're okay!"

"Of course I am," Noctis smiles, and Prompto's stomach does a flip for a whole other reason. "What, were you worried?"

Prompto chokes, gets out a breathless _dude_ , but then Ignis speaks over him.

"Are you unharmed?" Ignis asks. Noctis grimaces, turns his head and spits. In the dim light Prompto can't tell if that was blood or something else, but when he turns back Noctis' teeth are stained both red and black.

"...I wouldn't turn down a potion." His back tenses. Prompto's stomach roils in sympathy because that's the same way his back does when his guts are trying to eat him alive. "Or an antidote. Malboros suck."  
Gladio and Ignis both choke. Prompto stares.

"You--" he looks up and down his best friend, and when he takes more of Noctis' weight the prince does not hesitate to lean on him. "You took on a Malboro? By yourself?!"

"It was blocking the way into the tomb." Noctis shrugs like he's talking about watering a houseplant, "and it had nothing on Ardyn."

Gladio stumbles back, nearly crashes into the bench. He's pale when Prompto turns to give him a wide-eyed look of alarm. Ardyn was here and they didn't--he could have killed Noct and they wouldn't have--the thoughts seem to strike something in Gladio because he reaches back to grasp the bench, suddenly unsteady.

"You took on Ardyn by yourself?" He asks in an uncharacteristically small voice, "What were you thinking?"

"I was doing my job," Noctis says coolly, with none of that warmth he just gave to Prompto, and somehow that's worse than if he yelled. Prompto can feel the tension in his back, the fine tremors wracking Noctis' thin frame, see the ashen edge sinking in to his complexion. He's already digging into his pockets for a potion as Noctis finishes, "that's what you wanted, isn't it?"

Gladio rears back as if struck, all the color leeched out of his skin. Noctis breathes in deep, nostrils flaring, and then looks at Ignis.

"When does the train leave?"

"At dawn," He says quietly, almost lost in thought, as he stands. "We had best get aboard. Our supplies are still with our things, and you could doubtlessly benefit from rest."

Prompto helps Noctis hobble towards the train, looking back at Gladio following in their footsteps, pale as a ghost. Now his stomach really roils; the yelling may have stopped, but this is just so much worse.


	2. Fodina Caestino

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ardyn has the habit of appearing when he's least expected or wanted. But grief is a spiral staircase and Noctis must learn to take the first step on his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild (?) Content Warning for vomiting and blood. Bad Breath sucks and Ardyn is a drama king.

The Fodina Caestino, Noctis grumbles to himself as he stabs his sword through the head of the last Gurangatch, can go to hell and stay there. It's wet, muggy, and slippery as the inside of a Gigantoad's mouth. He's lost count of the number of times he's fallen over and his boots are full of mud and swamp water. 

Still, it's worth the quiet. He feels only the slightest bit guilty about leaving the others back on the platform without so much as a note, but the past few days of fighting...it's just been too much. He needed time, space, and peace without Gladio trying to bite his head off. Without having to worry about Ignis, without having to deal with Prompto's sad looks and understanding sympathy.

His thoughts are company enough as he trudges through knee high swamp water, churning and spinning like a Leidan storm. He's enjoying the quiet, and maybe his friends are too. Maybe they're better off like this, with him finally pulling his weight.

Noctis stops mid-step at that, wiping a hand across his face. He's tried to ignore the thoughts, tried to stomp on the feeling that the others will be better off without him, but it's hard. He can no longer chase them away with memories of Prompto's smile as he caught just the right angle, Ignis' prideful recreation of the Tenebraen tarts, Gladio slinging an arm across Noctis' shoulders after training had gone well. 

The memories are too bittersweet to help now. Prompto hasn't smiled like that in weeks, his camera packed carefully and then abandoned in his bag. Ignis hasn't gone near so much as a tea kettle, let alone the oven, and Gladio...

Guilt curdles in Noctis' belly as he forces himself to move again, sidestepping an oddly circular rock in the mush at the bottom of the quarry. In the span of a month, they've gone from closer than brothers to being at odds, barely talking to other another, and it's all his fault.

Luna is gone because of him. His father is gone because he'd tried to protect his son instead of himself. Who'll be next? Ignis is already blind, Gladio already wants to leave...Prompto, then? Will he finally turn away?  
It's not the smell that permeats the air that nearly makes Noctis retch, it's that thought. He can't lose them, too, and yet...with no one to hear him, he chokes on a sob. His vision blurs. His eyes sting. 

He swipes the back of a muddy arm across his face and keeps moving. The door to the tomb is here,blocked by more of those oddly circular rocks that seem to hang suspended by plant growth. He reaches out to touch one; it's warm beneath his fingers and almost seems to pulse. His stomach churns again but for a very different reason this time.

There is something watching him. Noctis whirls around in time to see a monstrous creature, all teeth and tentacles, rear up from the deep water across the way. The magic in his chest does not respond; it's not a Daemon, but it's definitely a monster. Behind him, there's a cracking sound. Noctis turns in time to see a much smaller tentacle pop through a ragged hole in the shapes blocking the tomb.

Not rocks. Eggs.

"Oh, come on!"

He rushes out of the little alcove before he can be attacked from behind, but up close the Malboro is even more massive than his textbooks said they'd be. It towers over him, a mass of waving tentacles, eyestalks, and sharp teeth. Already he can smell the noxious fumes that make up its legendary bad breath and he scrambles to remember what the books said to do about these things. He darts away, cleaving a tentacle off with a strike of his broadsword before warping clear as it tries to grab him with those teeth. The water ripples as its spawn draw near; one latches onto his arm and _bites_ down hard. He cries out, calling a dagger instead and stabbing the thing so hard his blade nearly pierces his arm as well. It shrieks, falls back in a death throe, and Noctis warps again.

These things are all teeth, he notices, with the tentacles far too short to be used as grabbers. If he goes around the back--yes! He calls his broadsword once more and slices clean across the soft, wrinkled flesh on the largest Malboro's back. It roars, slumping forward. He has to warp clear as three of the little ones try to take him at the knees, but a quick slash cuts them clean in half.

By the time he turns around, the largest is back on its proverbial feet and has turned around to face him. With a roar that shakes the stone around them it lets loose a dark mist, the noxious cloud of toxins and spores making Noctis' stomach do cartwheels in his gut. One breath of the stuff and his lungs sieze up; he warps away on instinct, sword catching in the mud as he falls to his knees and heaves up the remnants of breakfast. His insides want to be outside, and he reaches back to take the antidote from Ignis but then--

Ignis isn't here. He's on his own.

He doesn't have an antidote on him. 

Noctis heaves again, spits up bile, and forces himself to his feet. He turns around on shaky legs, his grip on his sword wavering, and stares down the Malboro that's coming his way. Its mouth is wide open, just waiting to chomp down on him. He steps back. The little one surge around the bigger one, all teeth and waving vines.

Wait. Vines.

It's a plant!

Noctis scrambles to grab at his Flasks; Blizzard cools his feverishly hot fingers, Healcast Thundara crackles against his palm but he doesn't want either of those. He's after--there!

Firaga booms as Noctis tosses it, straight down the mouth of the largest Malboro. It swallows reflexively and then--the spell booms again, a column of green-tinged flames reaching towards the sky straight through the creature's head. It little ones are caught in the blast and die with shrieks, little tentacles curling up like insect legs. The big one roars, writhing in pain, and falls back towards the deep water.

It doesn't make it. 

Noctis does not feel at all sorry as the creature collapses into a limp heap, tentacles like overcooked pasta--the thought makes his stomach churn all the more, threatening to come up again--as it finally, finally dies. 

On shaky legs, with the thing's poison burning his insides, Noctis walks around the corpses and heads for his ancestor's tomb as the sun begins to set. Despite the knee high water, the doors open smoothly. His birthright awaits, accepts, and then he's done. He's done it. He's claimed the Royal Arm _and_ taken down a Malboro all on his own. 

Somehow the victory feels hollow. He swallows back more bile, cheeks flushed with fever, and turns to leave. He wonders what his ancestors would think of this mess. He also wonders why the hell they'd build their tombs all the way in Nif territory, in the bottom of a swamp!

Shaking his head Noctis steps out into the fading blood red of twilight, the green water and increasingly putrid corpse of the Malboro dimming quickly. Stone gives way to mud as he steps out beneath the thick tree roots and into the clearing. The walk back is going to be long and--

"Hello there, Prince Noctis," 

Ardyn.

Noctis reacts instantly, reaching into the Armiger for a weapon. Blue crystalline shards pierce the gloom, cast Ardyn's face into shadow and light Noctis' path. He charges forward, reckless but beyond caring, and Ardyn sidesteps with ease he shouldn't have in this terrain.

"Goodness!" He steadies his hat as Noctis slips, nearly turns his ankle as he turns around to attack again. Again, Ardyn sidesteps with grace. "Did I catch you at a bad time?"

"You son of a bitch!" Noctis shouts in reply, pushing off damp stone. "Why are you here?!"

"Why," Ardyn sidesteps another attack, headed for drier ground with rippling footsteps. "I saw you head off all alone and thought to myself, "I'd best keep an eye on him,"" He smiles, but it's not warm. Noctis bellows and charges again. Ardyn doesn't seem to care and he continues, "Clearly you need a bit of help, hmm? Not so used to fighting without your friends, are you?"

Noctis' stomach siezes for a reason that is not the poison still coursing through him. 

"You leave them alone!" He shouts, words breaking in his throat. He can still see Luna and her bloodsoaked dress. If Ardyn has so much as touched the others then--

"Oh, you wound me!" Ardyn puts a hand to his chest as he continues to back up, "They're perfectly safe. Doubtlessly safer than they would have been here with you." His smile gains an edge. "But of course...you already knew that, didn't you?"

They've reached the drier ground at the edge of the lagoon. Noctis shouts, all rage and pain from the past week, and charges. His boots slip on the slick mud and he can't turn fast enough as Ardyn sidesteps again, then grabs him by the arm and pulls him back around with a grace that Noctis _knows_ he'll never achieve. He has a single second to think that this is going to suck, another to think this is oddly like a dance, before Ardyn plunges a dagger between two of Noctis' ribs and holds it there. White hot fire lights up inside him, the pain of sheared muscle and impaled tissue coming out in a breathless wheeze. Ardyn holds him up, one arm around his back and that hand cradling the back of Noctis' head as his legs nearly give out.

"Ah-ah," Ardyn chides, his eyes a gleaming daemonic yellow in the remnant of twilight and crystal light, "Careful there. You may just trip and hurt yourself."

Coppery blood wells in the back of Noctis' throat. His attempt at a growl comes out as a pained whine. Blood trickles down the side of his mouth. Ardyn's smile is razor sharp as he, almost gently, shifts his grip and lays Noctis down on the muck. Noctis gasps for air, glaring up at Ardyn, but Ardyn peers at him like a child peering at a bug that's missing a limb. He crouches down and pats Noctis on the cheek.

"You do look exhausted, you know." There's something in his eyes, something...dark. "Have a bit of a rest, hmm?" He's almost kind. He swipes his thumb through the mud on Noctis' cheek as if trying to comfort a child. "Sweet dreams, young prince." He says, "Say hello to Lady Lunafreya for me."

Then he pulls the blade out from between Noctis' ribs.

Noctis screams. 

Awareness fades out into white, white hot pain all-encompassing and spreading down his side, curling around his ribs. He can't think, he can't breathe, all he can do is scrabble against the mud for purchase, for anything to hold, for anyone to grab onto and make it stop.

But there's no one there. He's alone. 

At least the others won't have to watch him die.

When awareness returns, one cheek is blessedly cold. There's a familiar whine in his ear, and though it takes more strength than he feels he has left, Noctis slowly forces his eyes open. 

Umbra whines at him again, licking his face.

"Hey, boy..." Noctis rasps. He can't catch his breath but his side has stopped hurting. That's not a good sign, is it? Ignis would know, but he's not here. Tears blur Noctis' vision as he tries to reach up, tries to pat Umbra, but doesn't have the strength to lift his hand. It flops back into the mud. "...sorry. Messed up."

Umbra barks softly. He whines again, then ducks his head and noses something forward. Noctis nearly crosses his eyes to try and get a clear look at it, but it hits his forehead first. It's glass, so cold it burns, glowing from within with a soft blue light. He blinks at it a couple of times.

It's a Potion. One he didn't make. Is it from Ardyn? No, Umbra wouldn't be giving it to him if it was. But where did Umbra get a Potion that's this cold? He doesn't have the time to wonder. Darkness encroaches. He's lost too much blood. He's still poisoned.

His side aches as he reaches up to take it, the bottle nearly frozen beneath his fingertips. It still shatters beneath his hand and then he can breathe again. Umbra whines again, wriggling in under his arm as he lays still and catches his breath. His fur smells like sylleblossoms and clear water, the same way Luna's pages in their journal always smelled. Her perfume, he thinks, and he buries his face into Umbra's scruff. Only the Six will know how long he stays that way, choking sobs into dark fur. Umbra whines but does not move; he lets Noctis hug him close, not caring about the mud and monster-muck that must be getting into his fur. His ears pin back as Noctis' sobs grow in intensity, a month of pent up grief that aches worse than the blade between his ribs had.

That could be healed. This...this won't ever heal. He pulls Umbra in close, the last remnant he has of Luna, and doesn't let go. Umbra whines again, and he swears the sound is sympathetic.

They must stay there for an hour, maybe more, before Noctis' sobs abate. His face aches. His throat is sore and his nose is runnier than a leaky faucet, but his eyes are clear. His breath shakes but his chest doesn't ache nearly as badly anyway. Slowly, he pulls away. Umbra gets to his feet and barks at him. Night has fallen. The Daemons are going to come soon. They have to go.

"Okay," He breathes. Dripping mud and swamp water, blood sticking his shirt to his side, Noctis forces himself to his knees, then his feet. He stumbles back and takes a deep breath of putrid swamp air. HIs father is gone. Luna is gone. His friends may not care anymore. That's all true.

But he is alive. And he won't let that change until he's killed Ardyn.

"Okay," He says to Umbra, "Let's go."

Umbra barks and sets off at a trot through the muck. If godly messengers turned into dogs can complain about mud between their paw pads, Umbra does not. He leads Noctis back up the pathway with an odd grace and ease, back to the dimly lit path to the lift, back to the elevator itself. The little Snaga demons that would normally approach do not come, though he hears their laughter as they approach the elevator. Above, Cartanica waits. The train, and his friends, wait there.

Noctis wavers. He looks down as Umbra bumps his knee with his head.

"What?" He asks, "You telling me to go?"

Umbra barks. Noctis smiles just a little and ducks down to ruffle the dog's ears. Umbra barks again, licking the underside of Noctis' wrist. Then he pulls away and darts off into the foliage, leaving Noctis alone.   
It hurts, but he understands. Umbra will be around if he's needed, but this is still Noctis' fight to win. 

With a breath the prince stands up as tall as his poisoned body will let him and strides into the lift. It creaks, begins the journey up.

"Because he is our King!" Ignis' shout carries down, full of worry and alarm and anger. Noctis looks up, startled. Ignis never shouts. Why would he--oh.

Maybe he's never been alone as he thought. 

The lift comes to a halt at the station; his three friends are standing close together, Gladio facing him and Prompto and Ignis with their backs to the lift. All are pale, tense. He takes a deep breath.

"What's all the yelling about?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There...was a prompt that I have since lost of Noct wandering ahead in the Fodina and being stabbed in the same place as Luna was by Ardyn. I tried to write for it and like. 90% of that writing ended up in Toxic, so...kudos to that prompter but it doesn't quite fit so...here it is?
> 
> Also yes; Noctis would get a nap before Ardyn would return and canon proceeded as normal. He did not, however, get the hug he so desperately needs at this stage in canon. BOYS! /throws hands up


	3. Zegnautus Keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio comes to a realization that has been a long time coming. Noctis realizes a thing or two as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More (definitely not one-sided) background Promptis; feel free to interpret as Gen if you prefer because these boys are ridiculous.

Zegnautus Keep presses down like a weighty thing, a sword ready to fall on their heads. Prompto is safe, thank the Six, and so is Noctis. The four of them are together again.

Gladio's heart still sits heavy in his chest, a rock in the pit of his stomach as he sits and keeps watch. They've barred the door to the barracks, ripped the loudspeaker off the wall and left sparking wires in its place. Umbra, Six only know how he got in here to begin with, lays on Noctis' bare feet. Exhaustion clings to the mutt like a second coat, clings to all of them like capes. Prompto is conked out, half sprawled in Noctis' lap, Noctis himself is asleep sitting up against the cold concrete wall, Ignis is actually _snoring_ on another bunk, shoes still on, and Gladio...

Gladio sits, elbows on his knees and hands clasped together, and watches. He watches their chests rise and fall in ease, listens to the snoring, and tries to push back the lump in his chest. They're all safe, no thanks to him, and have been keeping that way for a while.

Hell, Noctis survived a Malboro, getting stabbed in the freaking _lung_ , and making his way through this hellhole of a fort with nothing but life-sucking magic and his father's sword. It's clear he doesn't need Gladio anymore. Maybe he hasn't for a long time.

Maybe that's okay.

"You tryin' to drill a hole in my head?" Noctis asks, voice sleep muddled. Gladio tenses as the prince--no, his King now, and he's been for a while--stretches his leg as best he can without dislodging Prompto. He rolls his neck and looks Gladio in the eye, tired but aware. 

Gladio swallows hard and looks down.

"No," he says quietly, "Just...trying to figure out some things."

"Uh-huh." Noctis doesn't sound convinced. He quirks an eyebrow, pensive. Either he's too tired to speak or waiting Gladio out, but the silence pulls. Gladio licks his dry lips and shakes his head.

"I've been...kind of an ass."

Noctis raises his other eyebrow; they both disappear beneath his fringe in his shock. Shame colors Gladio's face as Noctis says, "Kind of?"

Gladio looks away. "Okay, a lot of an ass. And a really lousy Shield."

"That's what happens when you run off out of nowhere." Noctis shrugs a shoulder, voice oddly casual. "But I think--"

"Noctis," Gladio cuts him off. Noctis blinks at him, startled by the use of his full name, and Gladio sighs, because he knows he's lost the right to call him Noct, after all this. He takes a breath, squares his shoulders, and looks up to meet his King's gaze. "I need to tell you something."

"...What?"

"I'm sorry. A lot of the things I've done were out of line."

Noctis blinks at him again. Once, twice, three times. Then his shoulders sag and he tips his head back against the wall. Absently, he starts to comb his fingers through Prompto's hair, the Ring a stark contrast to the sunny color.

"I'm not," Noctis sighs, "Going to say it's okay, because it's really not, but I get it." He looks over, peering at Gladio through his bangs. "I get it. None of us are taking this shit well."

"No kidding," Gladio looks down at his hands, the blood caked beneath his fingernails, the calluses in the joints of his knuckles. "I just...I said some really bad shit to you. Did shit I shouldn't have." He swallows back acrid bile, "...You could have died because I was an ass."

"Gladio..." Noctis sighs, "I made that call and I was stupid about it, okay? That one's not on you."

"I made you feel you had to," He clenches his hands together. Once they'd gotten Noctis settled in the sleeping car, Prompto ever at his side, Ignis had taken Gladio aside and explained, in no uncertain terms, what Noctis had said. Ardyn had nearly made him a replicated image of Lady Lunafreya, a blade between the ribs meant to kill painfully slowly.

He would have died in the swamps, cold and alone, all because Gladio had been such an ass and forced him into feeling that he needed to go it alone. His knuckles go white beneath his grip.

"I made you think you needed to prove something," He says, grimacing as Noctis makes a choked noise in the back of his throat, "And that's..." He sighs heavily, stomach knotted somewhere by his feet. His father would have disowned him for his actions; Iris would have kicked his ass then made him get up and do it all over again. He'd have deserved both of their reactions. 

He also deserved Noctis'. He can't deny that any longer. He forces himself to look up again, to meet Noctis' knowing, understanding look. 

"I'm so sorry, your Majesty," Gladio says formally. He stands up, presses a hand to his heart, and bows low. Noctis makes a choked off noise again. "I hope someday you can find it in your heart to forgive me."  
Noctis is silent for a long moment. Gladio does not move, life in his King's hands. 

"...I forgive you," Noctis says softly. Gladio looks up so fast his neck cracks painfully. Noctis is looking at the ring on his finger, the shard of crystal gleaming even in the dim light. He looks to Gladio. "So stand up already and get over here." He slips down against the concrete. "It's cold."

Gladio's heart skips a bit. Noctis shifts just enough to make room for him on the too-small bunk without disturbing Prompto.

"...you...really want to share with this big of an idiot?"

"No," Noctis shakes his head. "I want to share with my big brother." He smiles, though it's a tired, ragged edge thing "Family fights, right?"

His heart starts beating again. "Yeah," Gladio chuckles softly. He stands up just long enough to sit beside Noctis, toeing off his boots. "They do. They can be really stupid about apologizing, too." He settles against Noctis' side. Umbra lifts his head, sniffs the bottom of Gladio's foot, sneezes, and settles back in. "Works out, though."

"I hope so," Noctis says, leaning against his arm, "cause if you fought like this with Iris, I'd have to kick your ass."

Gladio can't help it: he laughs. Prompto stirs enough to lift his head and blearily blink at the two of them, but when no yelling pierces his half-asleep world, he burrows his face back into Noctis' stomach and drifts off again. Noctis sighs deeply, leaning his head on Gladio's shoulder. 

"I'd like to see you try," Gladio finally says. Noctis barks out a half-asleep laugh of his own, but offers no contest. Before too long, he's asleep again.

Once more the dutiful Shield, Gladio returns to his watch with a lifted heart.

Whatever happens later, whatever they end up facing, he's sure of one thing: everything's going to be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Except then Canon happened and nobody was okay~! Ahahahahahaaaa....fuck this game.

**Author's Note:**

> Gladio is entitled to his grief. Gladio is entitled to his anger. He is not, however, entitled to GETTING OFF FUCKING SCRATCH FREE WHEN HE'S THAT BIG OF AN ASS. Running off to go do fuckall knows what (fight Gilgamesh) and abandoning his post with barely a by your leave and no explanation did not endear him to me, and the events post Altissia? ahahaha sit your ass down boy. sit your ass down and shut your piehole.


End file.
